A Bitter Realisation
by Scissorsandstone
Summary: In a break in part of Kvothe's story telling, Bast's unexpected jealousy sets off a string of events that threaten to break the delicate relationship between the two of them once and for all.
1. Chapter 1

Kvothe looked up from the glass he was polishing absent-mindedly, the final flicker of the memory he had been recounting dying in his unfocused eyes like the last sliver of daylight at sundown. He cleared his throat as if breaking an awkward silence.

'Well, I suppose that's all for now, it seems a good enough place to take a break as any'.

Chronicler put down his pen, shifted in his seat and stretched luxuriantly. 'A good thing too, my poor hand was just beginning to cramp up, much longer and I would be stuck with my fingers jammed round that pen for a span and a day'. He grimaced, clenching and unclenching his fist several times as the innkeeper began putting away the clean glasses.

Bast sat still on his stool, face emotionless. He was at a loss for words. How could he know so little about his Reshi. Yes, he had thought he had known, he supposed he had weaved and sewn the little threads he had understood about his master into an odd sort of garment that could and he had thought resembled familiarity. But, after all, it seemed that he had failed to notice the gaping holes in the fabric of his knowledge. He couldn't explain how he felt. Hurt? No, that was stupid…. But…. he couldn't deny it, he felt miserable and betrayed, like he had some near vital organ stolen from him by someone he thought he could trust.

And that bitch, Denna.

The thought snapped him back to reality like a punch to the gut. He must have been looking odd throughout his musings as when he finally slipped out of his reverie he caught Kvothe eying him worriedly.

'Everything ok Bast?' He said, concern stirring at the edges of his question.

'Fine, Reshi, Fine, Yes. Perfect'. The inside of his mouth tasted sour and strange. He was suddenly and unexpectedly overwhelmed with the horrible feeling he was going to burst into tears. There was a hot pressure behind his eyes and his throat felt as raw as if he had swallowed a cupful of neat whiskey.

'Bast?'

'I'm just tired' He heard his voice waver, threatening to crack. Burning tears pooled behind his eyes and he put all his effort into damming the stream. 'I'll be in my room Reshi, come get me when you start the story again'. And with that he slid off the stool and sped up the stairs behind the bar without a backwards glance.

Chronicler gave Kvothe a confused shrug and began packing away his writing equipment.

As soon as Bast's feet hit the worn wooden stairs the tears spilled over and flowed hot and painful down his cheeks. He stumbled up the steps, into his quarters in the eaves of the inn, slamming and bolting the door behind him. Finally he allowed himself to acknowledge the terrible sense of loss that was dragging at his heart with the weight of bitter iron.

Sobbing he crawled into his bed, tugging the rough woollen blankets over his head to block out the world.

My Reshi.

He knew it then for what it was, and there was no use in denying it much longer. There was much wrong in lying to others, but it could be excused in certain circumstances. Sometimes a situation called for selective dishonesty. But lying to one's own self, that is a pointless and self-destructive activity.

He knew then it had gone way beyond adoring admiration and respect for ones instructor. If that was to be the case the acid green jealousy that was corroding the pit of his stomach would make little sense. He knew he loved his Reshi, but he had always maintained that love was like that between a father and a son, between two friends, or brothers. And when he had looked upon his master's lips and his mind had mused languidly over what they would taste like against his own, he had believed it to be only natural curiosity.

A crush then.

He let himself test the word in his head.

A silly crush. That's what it had to be. And all because he probably hadn't touched himself in a couple span. Yes. That would be it, he was horny. He was just latching on to the first familiar warm body in the room, hell he wasn't even attracted to men, was he? He had only ever had sex with women.

He thought about women. Their supple breasts, letting his fingers brush over their hard nipples, slip between their legs.

He began to unlace the front of his breeches under the covers. He imagined running his tongue over some faceless girl's pert tits and began to touch himself.

After several minutes had passed and he was still resolutely semi-hard and unsatisfied he let his arm drop heavily to his side. He sighed. He bet Reshi never had this problem in his youth.

He began to retie his breaches, letting his mind wander lazily back to the part of the story in which Kvothe had first met Felurian. He imagined them making love. Kvothe kissing her neck hungrily, bodies pressed together…how hard his master must have been. His cock twitched.

And then all of a sudden in his head it was_ his_ neck Reshi was biting with such impatience, _his_ body which Reshi's hands danced over like flames of a guttering candle. And when he imagined his fingers twisting in his master's copper hair as his kisses descended ever further south, he felt himself grow rock hard. He was panting by this point, his fingers fumbling at his crotch, turning onto his front, blankets tangled between his legs, and rubbing his arousal against the soft fabric of his homespun breaches when it took too long for his fingers to find purchase on the leather lacings.

Tap, tap, tap.

There was a tentative knock at the door.

Bast jumped about a foot in the air, breath caught in his throat. He rolled over, almost falling out of bed and hurriedly tried to crush his straining arousal back into his pants. 'Just a minute,' he gasped breathlessly.

Tap, Tap…

'JUST A MINUTE!'

Kvothe's voice came through the door, muffled yet the note of concern coating his tone was hard to miss.

'Bast, what's going on?'

When no reply came and it had seemed minutes had crept by he heard an almost inaudible sigh through the rough elm of the door.

'Bast, I am about to begin the telling of my tale again, so if…'

'Oh'

Bast stood in the door frame, looking decidedly nonchalant.

'I'm sorry Reshi, I must have dozed off. I'm fine by the way, just fine. Yes the story, I should like to hear more of that, just needed a break is all, all that listening. You know how it can be. Well tiring. Its tiring, is what I'm trying to say'

Kvothe looked more closely at his student, past his radiant grin and casual stance to his raw, red rimmed eyes, flushed cheeks and dishevelled appearance.

'Bast…. can I come in?'

Without waiting for an answer he brushed past into the small room, seemed to pause for a second at the sight of the tangled sheets, then sat heavily down on the bed which creaked wildly like a stubborn mule being dragged to market.

'Bast I wasn't born yesterday, and it certainly isn't difficult to see. I know when something's wrong'

He waited, not long enough to expect an answer. Still, the short silence seemed stretched as taught as the strings on a lute.

'Was it the story? Did I say something to upset you? Tehlu help me it's not the Ctheah again is it? I thought we talked about that?'

All the resolve seemed to drop out of Bast and he appeared to visibly shrink, as if all the air had left him in one long, exhausted sigh.

His mind skated over a dozen lies he could attempt to stumble through but knew his Reshi would see straight through any botched falsehood he tried to conjure into existence. In the end he resolved to go with some semblance of the truth. Well, half of it anyway.

He sat down at the other end of the bed, tucking his feet underneath him, suddenly self-conscious though he couldn't think why. He had known his Reshi for years now and they were nothing but completely comfortable around each other.

He looked into his master's face for the first time in their conversation, the smooth jaw, the slight crease between his eyebrows that indicated worry. Their eyes met. In the dim light of the sputtering oil lamp they were the deep glossy green of holly boughs in the winter. By Tehlu he was beautiful.

He looked down quickly, fearing his gaze had been too intent, too revealing of his recent self-revelation.

'It's just…. I thought I knew you Reshi'. He swallowed.

'I guess I never asked but… well I thought we told each other most things. But then I find there's all this stuff I don't know about you and its… well. Horrible.' He looked up, met those shade green eyes, ancient and tired and looked away again swiftly.

Kvothe looked mollified. He smiled slightly, a sad smile that twitched at the corners of his lips. He opened his mouth to make a reply but before his tongue could shape the first syllable of an answer Bast filled the quiet with his own soft words.

'And Denna, how could you be taken in by that Reshi?'

The frown was back on Kvothe's face the second it had left. Not the concerned dimple between his eyebrows but a rough stitched knot of irritation.

'What do you mean?' His voice was smooth and cool as polished steel but Bast could sense the danger beneath the still waters that were Kvothe's patience.

'I mean she strung you along Reshi.' He was in his stride now, 'She dangled herself in front of you like an exceptionally sweet carrot in front of a starving ass and watched as you did her bidding like a puppet on a string.'

Kvothe's face was like thunder now and Bast knew he was playing with fire. But the words were tumbling out of him like squash from an overturned cart and there was nothing he could do to stop the cascade.

'And then, to add insult to injury she parades round with a new lover every week right in front of your nose, flirting and lifting her skirts for any man who cares to try like… a… well like a common whore.'

Silence.

'What did you say?' The fury in every word was palpable now. He was on his feet in an instance. His fists were clenched at his sides, knuckles white with tension and Bast could almost taste the crackle of electric rage pouring off his master's body. For one horrific second he thought his Reshi was going to strike him. But, before the storm could hit, the fire seemed to die in Kvothe's eyes. And what came next was worse than any weighted punch his master could have thrown at him, worse than all the boiling rage and heated words in the world.

'I thought more of you Bast.'

And before the last quivering word had spiralled downwards and touched upon the stagnant surface of the tension in the room, before the ripples had truly taken effect, he swept out through the door, leaving Bast sitting still on the bed, his mouth bitter with the taste of his own poisonous words.


	2. Chapter 2

It must have been well past midnight, the oil lamp burnt low in its glass bell jar, crafting long leaping shadows onto the lime washed walls. The room felt stuffy and stifling though this had nothing to do with the temperature; the fire in the grate had burnt out hours ago and all that remained was a few dimly glowing cinders and slate grey ash.

Fatigue clung to Bast like wet rags, threatening to drag him under. However the words he had spat so carelessly at his master still burnt like a brand, white hot on his tongue and nothing in this world or the Fae could bring him to submit to sleep. There had been no more story telling that evening. He had listened at the top of the stairs as Kvothe made some excuse to Chronicler about his voice hurting and perhaps retiring early to bed. He then returned to his quarters at once, having revealed nothing of their argument.

Bast rolled over onto his side, uncomfortable and dejected. He had ruined everything with his folly. His throat felt tight and constricted, as if in a chokehold. Feeling the familiar burn of fresh tears, he swallowed back his grief, unwilling to let himself cry twice in one evening. He was aware Kvothe could be quick to anger, but he also knew his teacher had a masterful control over his temper and could generally be relied on to bite back any truly aggressive retorts or reactions. From his response this time around, he had undoubtedly crossed some invisible line in his Reshi's iron-like forbearance.

_Was_ he even _his_ Reshi anymore?

At this last thought he curled tightly into the foetal position under the blankets, pressed his face hard against his pillow and choked back a sob.

He would do anything.

He shouldn't have jumped to conclusions so easily. He must have been mistaken about his feelings towards his Reshi. It would be wrong. He shouldn't have let misdirected envy sharpen his words into crude blades. He shouldn't have let petty jealousy compel him hurl those daggers at his sweet Reshi. Maybe he wasn't jealous at all, just protective. Perhaps he was merely concerned that his master was being taken for a fool.

But as he deliberated this he felt something spiteful and viscous in his belly awaken, writhe and then uncoil like a serpent. And when his thoughts manipulated the evening's argument once again like probing fingers and touched lightly once more on the subject of Denna, he felt the thing inside him rise aggressively; fangs poised and ready to strike.

He had to make things right again.

Before he could think things through and convince himself otherwise, he swung his legs out of bed and made for the door.

He shivered violently as he crept down the staircase to the second floor. The chilled granite flagstones of the landing were bitterly cold against his bare feet. Despite this he hesitated, uncertain outside Kvothe's door. Perhaps this had been a bad idea after all. Waking his already angry teacher when he was surely at present comfortably asleep would only make matters worse.

He dithered for seemed like a long minute outside the door, feeling his feet go from stinging cold to achingly numb. He found himself wishing he'd had the sense to put on some shoes.

Perchance his Reshi wasn't asleep at all? Maybe the dispute had kept him, like Bast himself, awake and thinking. He studied the minute gap underneath the door for any signs of flickering light.

Was that amber glow he glimpsed candlelight or just a figment of his imagination? Fear suddenly rose like bile in his abdomen and lanced up into his chest, causing his heart to leap like a fleeing rabbit.

He fought a short but violent internal battle with himself, took a sharp intake of breath and trembling now from not just the cold, pushed open the door slowly. The grain of the wood was rough under his fingertips.

His heart sank as he entered his master's room. It was cloaked in shadow, the muted light he had thought had been the glow of a candle came from the dying embers in the fire place.

'Reshi'. He whispered into the darkness, heart tight in his throat.

He heard the gentle shift of woollen blankets, the low creak of a body rolling over on a sprung mattress but no reply. Asleep. He hesitated, trying to penetrate with his tired eyes the solid membrane of darkness that prevented him seeing further into the room.

As his eyes began to adjust to the dim he thought he could make out the loose, hulking shape of the bed at the centre of the room. He stole towards it, feet light on the rush mats that covered the floor. He knew he should go back to his bed, Kvothe was unquestionably asleep and therefore it was pointless to hang around in his quarters waiting for nothing to happen. But through the gloom, the sight of the smooth curve of his Reshi's back under the covers and the soft even breathing was enough to keep him motionless and staring.

'Bast, I know you're there'

Bast started so forcefully he nearly toppled over into the bed.

'R-Reshi'

There was a cold, expectant silence.

'Reshi, I'm so sorry, you know I didn't mean those things I said. I don't think before I speak. I want things to be okay again. I want…' His softly spoken words tumbled over each other as if in a race to escape his lips then trailed off and died.

Silence stretched to a filament so long and fine it threatened to snap.

'R-reshi?' His voice shook.

'Go back to bed Bast, we'll talk in the morning,'

'I can't sleep,' he breathed.

There was another pause, so long Bast almost turned to leave.

'Get in then.'

'What?'

'Get in you stubborn ass.'

Bast heard the smile in his master's voice and it was all he could do to keep from grinning stupidly into the dark. He had never been in his master's bed before and the mere thought of it thrilled him in ways he couldn't explain.

He felt his way, half blind to the edge of the bed, hearing his Reshi shift over on the mattress to make space for him.

'This doesn't mean you're forgiven you know,'

'I know,' Bast whispered as he slid between the wonderfully warm sheets.

In the dark the close proximity to his Reshi's body felt tenfold closer. He could practically feel the rise of his ribs, with each exhalation, shifting the covers, the sweet heat radiating off his body. If there was any possibility of sleep in his own room tonight that chance seemed the dwarf to beyond semblance when compared the miniscule prospect of dropping off in his current circumstances.

He was painfully hard, pre-come dampening the front of his pants. And in the back of his mind danced the nagging fear that if his Reshi was to shift backwards, just a few inches, he would feel against his thigh just exactly what that close proximity of their bodies was doing to him.

It was all he could do not to reach out and touch his master in the gloom.

The stillness was heavy in the air. The silence pressed firm into his eardrums like a song. He held his breath for a long moment.

'Do you love her?'

The silence was severed, diminished and then swelled once more like a ripe fruit, though considerably more astringent, when there was no reply from the other side of the bed.

After a long while he felt the tug and slide of the covers over his warm skin as Kvothe turned to face him.

Still nothing. His heart pounded in his eardrums.

Finally, when Bast had just begun to think his Reshi had fallen asleep;

'What sort of question is that?'

He thought for a second. 'An innocent one?'

He almost felt his master suppress a laugh in the darkness.

'Do you really think it's a good idea to broach this subject with me again after what happened mere hours ago, Bast?' His tone was hard to make out.

'I guess not…'

'Then why?'

It was his turn to pause, letting the absence of light conceal the flush creeping into his cheeks.

He rolled closer to his Reshi, so close he could feel the warmth his body was emanating. He ached; he wanted to be touched so badly. His breath sounded too loud, too rapid even to his own ears. The flush crept down his neck.

'Bast? Are you all right?' He felt his master's soft breath tickle his face. His breathing hitched in his chest.

'You're not crying are you?'

'No, I'm fine Reshi,' He breathed.

'So answer my question,'

Silence.

'I guess…. I guess I'm jealous Reshi.'

'Jealous.' The word was not quite a question.

'Of me?' Kvothe asked.

'Why would I be jealous of you, Reshi?'

'Well it might be that I had someone I was close to… she was very beautiful, we shared something… ' He faltered.

'Hang on a second, I'm the one asking the questions here. Don't turn this on me Bast!'

Bast smiled wickedly into the blackness despite himself.

'No, I'm not jealous of you.' he breathed.

'Then who?'

By now his heart was thudding so hard against his chest he was surprised his master couldn't hear it's pounding through the gloom.

'Her.'

The next silence that took root in the darkness was so loud it hurt to hear it.

'I don't understand…'

Before he could think, before he could justify just what the hell he was doing Bast broke the last few inches of space left between them in the bed. In the dark he somehow found his Reshi's mouth with his own, tongue fluent against the other's. His hands tangled in the soft hair at the nape of his neck pulling the warm body flush against his own.

'Merciful Tehlu,' He gasped against the sweet mouth.

CRASH.

The floor was painfully cold. Darkness, confusion. Bast couldn't work out up from down. His chest ached where rough hands had shoved him hard.

The oil lamp sputtered into life somewhere to the right of him. Even this soft luminescence, after hours of near total darkness stung his eyes like salt water.

Through his narrowed eyes he caught site of his Reshi. He was sat up in bed, expression confused, unreadable. No not unreadable; angry. He was furious.

'Just what the hell did you think you were doing?'

Bast blinked on the floor, still at a loss to what had just happened.

'Reshi, I, I don't know… it just….felt right.'

'What?'

'Well you didn't exactly stop me….'

The look that Kvothe gave him was enough to silence him in a second.

'I think pushing you out of bed counts as stopping you Bast.' His voice cut like a blunt knife.

'I'm sorry Reshi… but….'

'But. What?'

'Well I could feel you were enjoying it….'

'You what?' He practically spat the words, his face a mask of fury.

'You were…. Well you were… getting hard' His voice trailed off to a whisper as if he couldn't quite bare to finish the sentence.

There was a long pause where Kvothe's face seemed to blanch, then redden.

'I could feel it Reshi.'

It was a long time before anybody spoke again.

'I think you should go back to bed Bast, forget this ever happened.'

'But…'

'That wasn't a suggestion. That was a command'.


	3. Chapter 3

Pink in the face, stung with the hot prickle of shame and rejection, Bast slowly picked himself up off the floor. Upon standing he tried to conceal the evidence of his earlier arousal, albeit slowly fading, but on seeing Kvothe's gaze inadvertently slide down his body then swiftly and deliberately snap away, he cringed in humiliation and knew the effort was pointless.

The damage was done.

He shuffled towards the door, misery oozing through his guts and pooling in the pit of his stomach.

A thousand and one explanations, apologies and excuses careened sickeningly around in his head until it was just a jumble of disjointed, unintelligible nonsense. No matter, he knew if he tried to open his mouth to say anything right now, he would probably just vomit the caustic contents of his stomach down his front out of sheer mortification. Perhaps that would be a favourable idea after all, he considered listlessly. At least the sound of his retching would break the awful silence that begun to settle on the situation, cold and bleak as mid-winter frost. Or, alternatively, he thought miserably, could say he was sick and delusional. He'd contracted some sort of hideous malady that triggered him to both vomit uncontrollably and temporarily lose his mind and try to screw anything with a pulse. He smirked to himself humourlessly. If there was ever an occasion for a half-starved, stray draccus to chance upon him and swallow him whole, right now would be excellent timing.

He stole one last, backward glance before he left the room. The cold look of indignity on Kvothe's face was enough to make what little remained of his previous excitement completely flaccid in two seconds flat.

To say the subsequent few days were unbearable would have been a gross understatement. Chaen, Felling and Reaving came and went and things were still painfully awkward between the two of them. Kvothe purposefully avoided being alone in the same room as Bast. His innkeeper façade became like a concrete mantle that wore as easily as clothing and he barely spoke two words together to his student. On the rare occasion he did glance up from polishing the bar or chopping the sweet purple onions that grew like weeds in the garden of The Weystone Inn and found they were unaccompanied, he would hurriedly make his excuses and leave.

It was a bittersweet situation which steadily grew considerably less sweet as the days crept on. By Cendling it had soured to curdled milk in Bast's mouth as the burning humiliation that had blanketed and numbed all initial emotion, seemed to ebb then slip away. At first Bast had been glad of the isolation, swallowing it like medicine to ease his burning discomfort. But as the dawning reality of his circumstances took hold, realisation that their easy friendship was now broken, beyond repair, was a lead weight in his gut.

Thus, despite his loneliness, Bast kept mostly to his room, only descending for meal times and on the rare occasion Kvothe decided to take up his narrative once more. If Chronicler had noticed the icy tension that had grown so swiftly and unexplainably between the pair, he didn't acknowledge it. Well, not openly at least.

It was late evening and the three were sat in the bar, sharing a light supper before bed, when it happened. The polite, half forced conversation had flickered and died just minutes before and an awkward, heavy silence seemed to sit in its place; an unwelcome guest at the table. The sound of chewing seemed unpleasantly loud.

Chronicler cleared his throat uncomfortably, lifting Bast from his forlorn reverie. He was suddenly, unaccountably infuriated. Why should he have to put up with this?

Completely out of the blue, a reckless impulse seemed to bubble up in Bast like molten magma. He looked up from his untouched plate.

'So, Reshi,' he exclaimed, as if there had been no break in the conversation, 'Just what was it about Felurian that turned you on so much you spent over a year in the Fae, at it like rabbits?'

Chronicler choked on his mouthful of bread.

Kvothe's eyes turned to his student, wide with disbelief. Not only was this the longest sentence either had spoken to the other in days but the subject of the query was dangerously close to the mark.

There was a nasty pause.

'That, is an interesting question,' Kvothe replied at last, the false politeness in his voice failing to conceal the danger behind his words. His subsequent laugh seemed a little too forced.

His eyes were locked on Bast's now, forest green, dangerous, calculating.

'So…. go on then, I'm sure we'd all _love_ to know.' He smiled at Chronicler, who averted his eyes, embarrassed. His voice was cheery, conversational. Inside, his heart was a panicked bird, his ribs a steadfast cage.

When there was no reply he continued recklessly.

'Was it her unquestionable beauty? Her witty conversation?'

'…Or perhaps it was her tight fit?'

Chronicler stood, his chair scraping noisily across the wooden floor.

'I should probably turn in, it's late…'

'No!'

It was almost a shout.

Bast dropped his voice, half embarrassed.

'No… c'mon, _stay_….. The conversation's just getting interesting.'

Chronicler dropped back into his seat, looking uncomfortable.

'Yes stay Devan. Who knows… wait long enough and Bast might surprise us all with some hitherto exceptionally concealed intelligence.' His eyes glittered viscously.

They glared at each other across the table until Kvothe spoke again, his voice casual.

'I'd have to say it was her undeniable womanliness,' He looked directly at Bast, his mouth twitching at the corner, amused at his own joke.

'And yes,' He smirked, reclining in his seat, 'Her 'fit' was nothing to complain about either.'

Bast's expression soured, hurt flickered like lightening across his face and then was gone.

'_Reeeallly_… that surprises me,'

Kvothe raised an eyebrow, 'Oh, How so?'

'Oh I just know what you like, Reshi… I know what gets you… stirred up.'

Kvothe's eyes narrowed imperceptibly. He reached for the bread knife.

'Just didn't think that was it, tis all.' Bast popped a piece of roasted squash into his mouth nonchalantly.

'Well you wouldn't know, would you? His grip had tightened on the knife. 'I don't think you'd have the first idea about what I find appealing… or contrastingly, what I find perfectly abhorrent.' His tone was icy, his knuckles white around the handle of the blade.

'No I guess I wouldn't know,' Bast snapped, all pretences lost in the heat of the argument. 'But sometimes I doubt you can even recognise that yourself.'

'Oh trust me, I know what I want… And, more importantly, I know what I _don't _want.'

Silence.

Chronicler shifted anxiously in his seat.

After a time Kvothe began to slice more bread. He offered the board to Chronicler who looked surprised that innkeeper had remembered he was still there.

'No, no, none for me thanks. I think I've had _quite_ enough for one evening.'

'Bast?'

'No… I'm fine.' His face was blank, void of emotion.

'Well since we've all had our fill, I better make a start on these dishes,' His tone was deceptively jovial once more.

He got up from the table and Chronicler, who had been staring bemusedly into the distance for the last few seconds, jumped up too and bustled to help him.

As Chronicler made his way into the kitchen and Kvothe leaned down to pick up the last of the wooden plates, his lips brushed for the shortest instance against Bast's ear. The words he breathed were soft and menacing.

'Play with fire, Bastas, and you're going to get yourself burnt.'


	4. Chapter 4

That same night, Bast awoke with a start, heart thudding hard against his ribs, fear coiled tight around his chest like a snake. He lay motionless for a long minute, trying to breathe, listening to his pulse beginning to slow in his eardrums. Slowly, inch by inch, he felt the coils of fear slacken as rationality crept back into his thoughts.

'Just a nightmare.' He breathed to himself, reassured.

He remained still for minute, eyes staring blind into the darkness, trying to remember the finer details of his dream. But already it was slipping from his fingers, a quick, silver fish; too agile and slick to grasp with ones hands for longer than a second. He felt his thoughts slow, becoming hazy and unfocused at the edges as the velvet black tide of sleep began to wash over him again….

A muffled, half formed sound pulled him from the shallow waters of his fleeting slumber. He broke the surface of consciousness for the second time that night and listened, still sleep-sodden and drenched in drowsiness, for the noise to come again.

Seconds ticked by before he heard it once more, distended, near inaudible. He sat up in bed, ears pricked now.

The sound came a third time, longer now, drawn out: A low wail. This instance its origin was easier to place. It came from below, perhaps to the right wing of the inn. His master's bedroom?

Fear and anger bit into his flesh and for an instant he thought of turning over and going back to sleep.

In the end, curiosity won out.

He pushed open the bedroom door and with the first glimpse of the bed, Bast knew his master must be sick. He could see in the flickering light of the fire that his brow was fevered; slick with perspiration and his face was flushed blotchily with colour. Despite their present estrangement, worry tugged at his insides.

And then, mere seconds later, his ears caught the frantic, heavy panting and the lightening quick realisation struck him like a slap to the face. He looked again, with different eyes this time and the sight of his master asleep yet barely clothed, tangled in blankets, _undone_, was almost too delicious to believe.

He stood immobile in the door frame, staring, heart racing. The uncomfortable awareness that he had walked in on something carnal and inexpressibly private began to creep up his spine, unimpeded until….

'Oh god…'

The gasp was breathless, pleading.

The shock of the sudden sound faltered his erratic heartbeat for a short second. He watched on, paralyzed, as his master writhed, fists knotted in the sweat-damp sheets.

'Sweet God, don't….. UH… don't stop…..'

The ragged breathing was almost deafening in the quiet room. The sleeper groaned deep in his throat and rolled over, tugging the sheets tight against his body, grinding against the taut fabric. The outline of his stiff member became painfully evident beneath the covers.

Bast knew he should leave. Turn around, go back to bed and pretend this had never happened. But by this point he could feel the warmth pooling in his groin. Feel his breeches pulling taught against his crotch and he knew with complete certainty that was never, ever, in a million years, going to happen.

His Reshi was whimpering now in ecstasy, he could see his hips rising off the bed, his mouth opening, moving, searching for the shape of a word.

And now Bast too was achingly hard, practically rubbing himself against the door frame for relief, eyes glued to the writhing form in the bed.

Without thinking he felt his feet move him farther into the room, his hand – as if someone elses- pushed the door to behind him. Then he stood, wide eyed, at the foot of the bed, beyond aroused and uncertain of what to do next.

The only sounds were the soft friction of skin against linin and the low hiss of rapid, shallow breathing.

And then, incredibly, it came; the panted word, dropped into the sweat tinged air like a bead from a broken necklace.

'Baaast'

He froze, disbelieving. Sure his ears had failed him.

'Baaasst, fuuuuucckkkkkk….'

Kvothe shifted erratically in his sleep, the bed clothes sliding off the mattress with one fluid motion. And if the sound of his name alone hadn't done it, the sight of the sweat slicked body, naked and moaning with pleasure was beyond an invitation.

He sank to his knees on the soft mattress and, careful not to wake his master, climbed slowly onto the bed. His breathing hitched in his throat at the closeness of the naked form.

'Uhh…..'

He bent his neck, lowering his head unbearably close to his Reshi's body and then hesitated, his lips hovering inches away from the heated skin of his abdomen.

Fuck. What the hell was he doing?

He was frozen, uncertain and then, recklessness clouding all other concerns, he broke the last few centimetres of space between them.

The silken flesh was smooth and salty as butter against the sensitive skin of his lips.

Excitement blossomed like a crimson poppy in the pit of his stomach and he hungrily replaced his lips with his tongue, tasting the saline sheen of sweat, letting his mouth drift ever downwards, kissing, nipping until he reached the soft trail of bronze hair below his master's belly-button.

He paused, suddenly hesitant. The renewed moans his actions had elicited were encouragement enough but… somewhere in the back of his mind the argument at the dinner table still weighed heavily.

He proceeded slowly…. experimentally…

He dipped his head again and for the shortest second he allowed the supple skin of his lips to brush, almost imperceptibly along his master's straining arousal.

His teacher gasped in his sleep. The desire in that one, soft sound travelled straight between his legs.

When for a second time he brought his mouth down, flicked his tongue over the hard, throbbing flesh and his Reshi's hips bucked reflexively against his touch, he lost all control. In one fluid movement he allowed the entire length of his master to slide into his mouth, exulting in the taste of him, the feel of him stretching his lips.

His Reshi was keening now, thrusting into his mouth so erratically that he bumped the back of his throat.

Overcome with lust he rubbed himself against the mattress, revelling in the delicious friction it created. He was so turned on he knew could come just from this. Just from the feel of his master's cock in his mouth and his own arousal against the sheets.

'Mmnnn…. Fuck me Bast,'

He froze. Sweet, unholy mother of Tehlu. Did he hear right?

The thought of it was delicious, dangerous, unspeakably arousing. In that second he wanted it so badly he was surprised it hadn't crossed his mind before. But by God it was So. Damn. Wrong.

And suddenly the realisation of just what exactly he was doing hit him like a ton of bricks.

His master was asleep, unconsenting. He had no idea what he was doing. This was at best taking advantage, at worst…. Well he didn't even want to think about it. The word made him nauseous.

A moan from below him bought him back to reality; 'Pleease Bast,'

He was completely torn, he knew how immoral, how despicable this was, knew that he should put an end to this now, before it got out of hand-

Ugh, who was he kidding; it was way out of hand already, but still, he thought, its best to quit while you're ahead.

Oh God, but the sight of his Reshi, without a stitch on him, practically begging to be taken was almost too much to bear.

'Pleease…'

Overcome with something that lived in his chest, something he could barely explain, he gave in. He bought his mouth down to meet his master's and felt surprise when it responded, opened to allow his tongue entrance, sighed when he bit gently on the flesh of the lower lip. He shifted forwards, grinding his hips between his master's thighs.

He was gasping against his Reshi's neck now, his hands wanted to be all over him; at his hips, his back, his ass. He quickly spat onto his hand before his mouth found his master's jaw again, sucking at the salty stubble he discovered there as his fingers, now slick with saliva, explored and then found what they had been searching for.

His master yelped in pleasure.

And too soon, he knew, before he could even fathom what he was doing, he lost all restraint and pushed himself inside.

It was too much. Too. Goddamn. Good.

His fists twisted in the sheets, mouth dropping open. He closed his eyelids tight, stilling himself, trying so hard not to come right there and then.

When he had finally gained enough control to open his eyes again, he was met with an unfaltering emerald gaze.

**And that my friends, is most likely the end of it! Probably won't be writing anymore chapters unless any of you really want me to. This last one nearly killed me! Didn't envision it getting quite that graphic (or rapey to be honest, lol) but that just seems to be where my sick little mind took it! :) I almost wasn't going to post it but haters gunna hate and all that. DON'T JUDGE MEE! :) **

**Obviously thanks go to Patrick Rothfuss for all his awesome characters (I'm sorry I made them do horrific, unspeakable things :D) and general insperationalness – I bow down to your writing genius!**

**Hope you all enjoyed :)**

**Please review (good and bad) it's always nice to know what people think!**


End file.
